


Tribute of Surrender

by LadyBinary



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Alien Biology, Comfort, Comfort Sex, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Smut, Gentle Sex, Gentleness, Gratuitous Smut, Guilt, Guilty Pleasures, Human/Monster Romance, Interspecies, Interspecies Romance, Interspecies Sex, Mental Health Issues, Past Violence, Power Bottom, Protectiveness, Religious Guilt, Self-Indulgent, Service, Service Top, Shameless Smut, Size Difference, Size Kink, Sweet/Hot, Violent Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-15 17:27:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29193048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyBinary/pseuds/LadyBinary
Summary: In the mood for gratuitous fluff? Here, have some utterly contrived, shamelessly indulgent clone attendant comfort-smut. <3Features a servicey Horde clone and a nameless reader-insertable female OC. Mostly service-top vibes, with a side of feral rowr and protectiveness, plus a lil bonus validation while we're being indulgent. Lighter and sweeter than my other smut works (but still explicit).Optionally follows ‘Terms of Surrender’ (very short hurtcomfort, emphasis on the hurt):- https://archiveofourown.org/works/26651917
Relationships: Horde Prime Clones (She-Ra)/Original Character(s)
Comments: 27
Kudos: 41





	1. Chapter 1

She does not remember who she was. It is all right. She does not need to remember. 

The memory wipe was a mercy, as her attendant has informed her. She has no reason to disbelieve him. Intangible wisps of suffering linger in the corners of her mind - now-painless remnants of some great cataclysm. She is glad to know nothing of the details. 

_You were saved by the strength of your devotion,_ say the white-clad soldiers with shining eyes. She belongs here now - to the Horde, to the Exalted One - a precious tribute of war. Beloved in His sight and honored among her new brethren, she need know nothing more. 

Her small body fits well here, gathered in sturdy arms, held against a crisp white tabard - familiar and soothing. She is not sure why she requires soothing, given the mercy of her cleansed memory. The stoic clone soldiers, particularly her assigned attendant, often seem to think she might shatter at any moment. There is no ailment or pain she can sense… and yet, the attention assigned to her is a thing she _needs._ Some part of her clings to these comforts with a desperation she cannot name. 

She leans into the warm chest with gratitude… and some measure of guilt. These quiet treatment sessions have been frequent, in the short time since her rebirth. The Exalted Brother has insisted his trophy be well maintained in all capacities, and even granted her private quarters - complete with unspeakably comfortable bedding, which the clone has wrapped around her along with his arms. She wonders if she truly deserves such care. This species of titans seems endlessly productive; she has never seen one taking food or sleep as she does. Most are trained soldiers, tirelessly carrying out the vast mission of spreading His light through the Universe. Reportedly, even her attendant was one in his previous rotation, though it is hard to imagine this gentle creature in battle. Does he resent being removed from his position, for the burden of a single creature’s care? He shows no sign of it; but from this porcelain-faced species, she can hardly tell.

The clone seems to sense her unrest, despite her lack of a Hive-link. He gathers her closer, thrumming. The voice above her head is as soft and smooth as velvet: “Remember, small one, I am here to attend your needs.”

“I’m okay,” she mumbles halfheartedly into his chest. “You… you don’t have to. I’m okay.” Though the words are true, a part of her still hopes he will not act on them. Just a little longer, held in his lap like this, feeling so small and safe. Just a little longer, and then she can be strong.

“Have to?” Her attendant shifts, lifting his head from its tucked position above hers. His gentle thrum changes, breaks into a deeper rumble - and, after a moment, she recognizes it as a chuckle. She has not heard him laugh before. 

“Oh, soft one…” There is an odd purr in his voice, now, as he lifts a hand to stroke through her hair. “You seem to mistake the nature of my assignment to you.” 

His broad body curls a little tighter around her, with a keenness that could almost be possessive. The purr deepens as he lowers his voice. 

“I have spilt _rivers_ of enemy blood for this privilege.”

She jerks up her head in shock. That shock only mounts at the sight of the quiet _smirk_ tugging at the corners of his lips. Eyes hooded, he looks down at her with obvious pride.

“I bore witness to the blasphemy wrought upon you, and carried out His wrath myself,” he continues, with a satisfied air. “The execution of your traitorous clan was swift and righteous.” 

His massive hand still strokes softly over her head. She stares up at him, eyes wide, heart fluttering with something that isn’t quite fear. Her attendant is assuredly just in carrying out the Exalted One’s divine retribution. Still, it is no longer quite so difficult to imagine him washing bloodstains from his spotless white tabard - or quite so easy to sit still beneath the deadly claws, skimming gently through her hair. 

“You are safe now, little tribute.” Something glints in those luminous, pupilless eyes. “Though His mercy has freed you from the suffering that earned you His honor… it was my sacred duty to avenge that suffering. And my reward is sweeter than any spoils of war.” 

For a moment, as he speaks, his fangs are visible at the corners of his subtle smile - sizable, gleaming, deadly - and then, the moment is gone, and his manner is as gentle as it ever was. ”I am blessed to provide whatever comforts you need, small one.”

As she shivers against him, his hand stills. His angular face remains perfectly calm as he asks: “Do you fear me?”

She opens her mouth to speak, but finds herself unable to answer. His arm is still wrapped around her, effortlessly encircling her upper body. She doubts she could fully wrap _both_ arms around his broad back. Even seated upright on his lap, she cannot see over those powerful shoulders; she must angle her head back to meet his eyes. 

“...I’m... not sure,” she admits.

His face is closer than it was a moment ago, tilted lower, watching her shifting expressions with curiosity. That not-quite-fear flutters in her chest again. There is an odd twitch at the tips of his ears, held at a lower angle than usual. She finds herself reaching up…

In a moment, her palms are pressed to the sharp planes of his cheekbones. He gives a soft ardent thrum, his arm tightening around her body, claws twining through her hair. She can taste the rumble of his purr through his lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thematic statement: you YES YOU PERSONALLY are worthy of endless cuddles, and/or fierce rabid army-shredding adoration, take your pick.


	2. Chapter 2

She does not know if she is frightened. It is all right. She does not need to know. 

The kiss moves slowly, savoring. It lasts for some time just as it started - soft, cautious - her body pulled close against him, stretched up to meet his lips - his broad palm cupping the nape of her neck. Her fingers explore the planes of his cheeks, the slope of his ears. The pointed tips flutter beneath her touch. 

His lingering words have left her far more conscious of the way his fangs brush her lips. Could a creature so gentle be capable of such carnage? And, if he is… does she care? 

She has no memory of her former clan. The ones who betrayed the Exalted Brother's light - the ones who left these invisible scars, this pitiable need for touch and comfort, even after the erasure of her suffering - to her, they are distant strangers. Their mass slaughter was, until now, an abstract concept; the unworthy, receiving His judgment. Until now, she could not put a face to the one who delivered that righteous fury. 

\- Well, she  _ could,  _ technically speaking; but that cloned face had not been linked to the one assigned to  _ her. _

He holds her carefully as he shifts onto his hip. For a moment, there is nothing beneath her, lifted against him; and then, instead of his lap, that obscenely soft bedding. Her pulse mimics that flutter of his ears for a moment, as the kiss bears forward, gently directing her down. Then, his hand spreads behind her shoulders to take her weight, and she lets herself relax into his hold as he lowers her onto her back. 

The kiss breaks for a moment as he leans over her. Beneath the dimmed lights, his face falls into shadow; the glow of his eyes becomes obvious. Her anonymous, near-interchangeable attendant - for, though she has come to recognize him by voice, nearly all the clones are as poised and polite as he - no longer seems so impartial as a provider of care. 

The thought escapes before she can stop it. "Did you really… kill for this?" she blurts out. 

He pauses, propped on his forearm, and looks down at her with a softness that seems almost reverent. "For  _ this?  _ No, honored one. Only for your tribute, as one beloved in His sight. All else is at your service." 

Her voice comes as a whisper. "But… why… for  _ me? _ " 

He blinks, confused. His head tilts to the side, ears dropping low in a gesture that might look almost cute - were it not delivered by a creature able to lift her with one hand. "I fail to understand your question. You are a worthy and precious one. Need there be more proof than your survival?"

She, as well, does not entirely understand; but his voice is so earnest. Somehow she doubts these Hive-linked clones are even capable of insincerity. And, anyway, at this angle it is much easier to wrap her arms over his wide shoulders and pull him down closer to her.

"So…your 'prize' is just… comforting me?" She manages a shy smile through her prickling cheeks. 

"I am to provide any comforts the honored tribute requires." He gives that soft, beatific smile - the one she had assumed was the smile of a detached professional - and presses his forehead against hers. She pulls down at his shoulders, insistently, wordlessly, and he obligingly gives her some of the weight of his chest. His warmth presses down on her, more soothing than any of the blankets and pillows piled around the bed.

She feels the prickling deepen into a slight flush as she pulls on her lower lip, eyes averted. "...What about… more  _ intimate _ comforts?" 

For a moment, pressed beneath his chest, she feels his soft breathing go still. 

When she looks back up at his face, he has closed his eyes. He takes a slow, deliberate breath, stretching it out, as if… to… calm himself? Out of the corner of her eye, she catches slight movement: his claws, flexing into the sheets near her head. 

This time, that flutter in her chest is more of a strong staccato thump. 

"Soft one…" he breathes. That deeper edge of a purr has returned to his voice - that quiet intensity. "If that is among the comforts you desire…"

His hand moves to cup the side of her face. Its size engulfs her peripheral vision, fingers curling around towards the back of her head. When he finally opens his eyes, they seem to burn from within. Their green glow smolders along the claw caressing her cheek. 

"I would tear through an armed battalion with my bare hands for the privilege you grant me."

A tiny, plaintive noise crawls from her throat - wanting -  _ needing  _ \- she tightens her arms around his neck - and then, his mouth is on hers again, far less cautious than before. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I note with amusement how careful I was to specify that the clone doesn't expect / feel entitled to sex - despite being totally fine with the implication that said clone personally slaughtered her entire clan. (My, how romantic~ <3 TBF, they totally deserved it. According to him.)  
> I have my priorities in order. :P


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sidenote: this clone is NOT one of Prime’s Chosen (as referenced in my other smut fics). This has Implications for his level of sexual experience.

Her hands fumble at her attendant’s cowl. His have already unclasped hers, and now slide down her waist - pulling her up against him in an arch. She accedes with an ardent sigh through the kiss. The way his firm, broad body feels against her… her hands have better things to do than struggle with clasps.

In the privacy of her quarters, she has taken to eschewing the restrictive black underlayer of the standard Horde uniform. Her attendant has never seemed to mind, or even notice her legs peeking through the slits of her skirts. In retrospect, she now realizes it was not a matter of disinterest, but  _ restraint  _ \- as his huge hand now strokes down to squeeze her bare thigh with relish. At the feel of how far his fingers reach around its curve, she shivers; but then, his mouth is moving down the side of her neck, with just a hint of tongue grazing her throat, and her trepidation is forgotten. She finds herself mewling freely for more. 

Then, claws catch the top of the skirts' slit at her upper thigh. Before she can react with more than a gasp, he slices upward in one swift motion. 

At her sudden squeak, and her reflexive attempt to grab the tunic's front, he does at least pause - allowing her a moment to recover from her alarm. She glances down to find her skin untouched, despite the garment being sliced all the way to the shoulder seam. He looks to her rattled expression with a mildly apologetic air. Unflappably polite, as ever. 

If her understanding of Horde efficiency is any indication, a new tunic will be folded at the entrance to her quarters before either of them leave the room. Or the bed. She exhales and offers a wry smile, hesitantly lifting her hands - allowing him to finish the job with a flick across the opposite shoulder. When he takes the freed cloth at the corner, she can’t help but pull her lower lip between her teeth and drop her eyes... but the accompanying nod, and the shy smile around her bitten lip, bids he proceed. Gently, he pulls the remains of her covering aside.

She finds herself squirming slightly beneath the clone’s gaze, not sure how to arrange her naked form - feeling all the more awkward at the fact he remains fully clothed. For a moment, he simply… looks her over; as if absorbing the foreign curves in detail. Her cheeks flush warm at such scrutiny. Just as she begins to wonder if her shape is even acceptable to his species, he gives a low, rough-edged exhale - almost a groan - and unclenches his claws from the sheets on either side of her body. She glimpses tufts of shredded bedding between his fingers, just before his lips take hers.

He seems to want to touch every inch of her. For him, perhaps, that task would be trivial; her slight frame feels tiny beneath his hands as they move over her skin. Stroking, kneading - the spread of one hand spanning across her ribcage, sliding up over both of her small breasts - another squeezing her hip, his thumb pressing into the inner hollow of her hipbone as his fingers spread to grip the soft swell behind. His forked tongue feels slick and strange against hers: long, tapered, oddly prehensile. She moans around it as the heavy kissing escalates, and meets his groan in return. 

He pulls her up by the hip, and she obliges, eagerly wrapping her legs around his back. She is sure that she must be leaving signs of her arousal on the waist area of his uniform; she is equally sure that she does not care. All the more reason to remove it. 

When she finally manages to unclasp his cowl, he reacts with surprise - as if he hadn’t realized she intended to remove it at all. It takes a moment of insistent tugging at his tabard before his eyes widen in understanding. “- Oh! Of course. You would enjoy skin contact?”

She attempts to parse his confusing reaction as he leans back to pull his tabard over his head. Had he been planning to undress at all? How different  _ are _ this species’ sexual customs? 

\- Ah.  _ Clones.  _ Do they even  _ have  _ sexual customs? ...Or sexual organs?

As her attendant sheds his tabard and underlayer - with obvious haste, and little heed to the fabric’s integrity - she finds herself giving him the same curious gaze she received. Nearly everything seems to match the males of her species, apart from the hairless slate-blue skin, and of course his sheer  _ size _ . Everything but the genital area, that is, which bears what looks to be a featureless slit. Still, the  _ desire  _ certainly seems present. Within moments after the fabric is cast off, his mouth is moving down her throat again - this time far more generous with his tongue. The twin tips flicker over her skin, painting delicate lines of heat. 

The heat of his lips pays no greater attention to her breasts than it does the rest of her skin. She does not mind, mewling and wriggling blissfully beneath his hands and mouth no matter their target, reveling in the striated muscles of his bare shoulders against her questing fingers... until she realizes how purposefully his mouth is moving  _ down.  _

“I - uhm -” she mumbles, suddenly awkward, knees pressed together. “You don’t have to - do that for me - i-it’s okay -”

He lifts his head. She notices his ears have dropped again. Confusion? Anxiety? Her hands twitch nervously at his shoulders. He looks up at her face, the ridges of his brow knitting together. “Is something wrong? Are oral pleasures not to your taste?”

“Well, it’s… it’s  _ good, _ I just…” Her face is burning; she can no longer meet those inquisitive, pupilless eyes. Words falter in her throat. The thought of that studying gaze between her legs - the building worry that she might not be able to  _ return  _ the favor - “You don’t - have to, uhm - go to any trouble.”

He blinks. Then, his brow softens, and a soft smile warms his gaze. “...Ahh. You have said this before.” He returns his lips to the hollow of her inner hipbone where they left off; presses a kiss there, and lifts his eyes. In a low purr, he murmurs: “I understand now, small one. Relax… and allow me this pleasure.”

Softly, his hands slide down her thighs until they reach her closed knees. She finds her legs trembling as he spreads them open. He keeps his eyes on hers, with that warm, gentle smile, until his face drops between her thighs.

“...Soft one…” he breathes, voice reverent. 

Her hips shiver as the warm air brushes her nether lips. In a moment, the warmth is of his mouth, his tongue… and all her concerns melt away beneath it.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hallo yes did anyone request some Servicey Bby. Also: this fic follows Porn Rules, assume every orifice is mysteriously hygienic and safe with no explanation.

As with his hands, her attendant's tongue seems determined to taste everything it can reach. And it can indeed reach  _ everything.  _

The clone explores her sex with enthusiasm, painting her with the heat of his mouth, humming in response to her shivering moans. Those sounds pitch higher as the flat of his tongue smooths over her clit. Below, the forked tips flicker over her folds, teasing - sending little sparks of pleasure across the flushed, sensitized skin - dipping through each crevice as that warmth slicks along the full length of her slit - and continues down. 

She squeaks in surprise. "W-wait, what are you - aheh, that's not - ah -  _ ohh!"  _

This flustered protest he ignores entirely, giving only a soft ardent growl. Thus, what began in her throat as a half-frantic laugh, breaks into an undignified squeal - for his tongue-tips have found an opening she had  _ not  _ considered sexual. Or edible. Until now. 

The flare of swirling sensation shocks her with its intensity and lewdness. Unbidden, her hands - which had leapt down to bat at the clone in fluster - instead clutch his pale head, egging him on. Her high-pitched noises smooth into breathless moans as he obliges, growling again and pressing her thighs up and apart with his palms. She is not sure if it is her hands pulling his face closer, or him shoving himself against her; it does not matter. The length of his tongue slithers over  _ all  _ of her intimate areas, massaging her from clit to crevice, and the flooding pleasure overtakes any thoughts of indignity. 

He inhales her taste as a rabid animal would dive into a feast. Her dripping arousal must be his most favored taste of all, for its source seems to summon his tongue - he laves at the entrance of her sex with ever greater fervor, until her keening whines and rolling hips beg to feel him inside - her hiked-up legs twitch above his shoulders as huge hands move beneath her, lifting her hips. And then, oh, Glory Be, his tongue  _ plunges  _ into her ready sex. 

Its length reaches every inch of her, writhing, and every movement sends a wave of bliss up through her core. The clone all but unhinges his jaw to devour her from the inside. She welcomes his feasting with wild moans, gasps, little yelps, as his flickering tongue-tips swirl in her depths. His hands spread over the fullness of her hips and rear and  _ grip, _ fingers sinking into soft flesh - little stabs of unimportant pain at their tips - it doesn't matter. Only  _ this  _ matters. 

The waves are already swelling, her moans pitching higher as desire becomes  _ need.  _ Her hands have found their way to the attendant's ears; twitching fingers clutch the arch where conch meets skull at each side, pulling him close and rolling her hips up into his mouth with increasing desperation. As heavenly as his tongue feels, it has little  _ power _ to it - the wriggling sensations are only igniting her cravings for something fuller - harder -  _ more.  _

Breathless, high, incoherent begging builds in her core and begins to escape through her lips - that need for more, oh  _ please _ more, to be filled, to be  _ fucked  _ \- regardless of equipment. Stars, there must be  _ something.  _ At this point, even his fingers are starting to seem an enticing instrument, claws be damned.

When his tongue at last withdraws, the ensuing emptiness is an aching wave that drags a groan from her chest. Panting, she resigns herself to let that pleasure ebb, as he lifts his head to look up at her. 

She manages to form at least a few coherent words - "Is there - can you cover the claws, or - I just - need - _in_ me - _fuck_ -" before trailing off in a whine, hips wriggling. Stars, with those huge hands, a finger or two would easily take her over the edge… 

The clone sits back and up to glance around the room for a solution. As he does, she stares hungrily at his muscular frame, so overwhelmingly large, so  _ alien _ , and yet… so  _ stirring. _ His own state seems not far from hers; he pauses for a moment to tilt his head back and exhale. A bright green flush glows over his cheekbones and ears. 

She sits up on her elbows, awkwardly tucking her legs to the side, to watch the broad chest rise and fall in near-panting breaths. The sight of that slate-hued body, sculpted, contours rippling as he moves - she bites her lip, wanting nothing more than to feel all of it pressed against her, on her,  _ in  _ her -

A streak of bright green against the dusky skin draws her eye further downwards. The slit between his hips is not so featureless after all: it now sports a hefty swell, and has begun to spread open as something pushes from within. Translucent green wetness escapes from the edges - seeping out like the questions in her mouth. 

"C-can I - how do you - is that - compatible?"

Rather than eager, her attendant seems almost embarrassed at her attention. His flush deepens as he averts his gaze; he moves a hand over his groin and sits back, giving a wry smile and a slight bow of apology. "Ah… please pardon the… inappropriate display, Honored One. It is difficult to constrain." 

"Wh - you just  _ ate my -  _ uhm _ \- everything."  _ Her own flush makes a bid to rival his, though in a much pinker shade. Her curiosity, however, swells even stronger; she shifts forward onto one hip, peering at his shy posture. "Is it 'inappropriate' even to  _ show _ me…?" 

"I… I would assume so. I am privileged to _provide_ pleasure." The clone's ears fold back; he seems suddenly fascinated by the bedclothes in front of him, avoiding her eyes. "Those not of His Chosen are rarely permitted to use their sexual organs."

“Call it… education?” She finds herself grasping at excuses as curiosity - and desire - overtakes reason. “I… I belong to the Horde now. I want to know  _ everything _ about your species.”

He looks up at that, still flushed, ears low and twitching. “I…” He swallows, clearly nervous. Yet, the sudden shift in his face and posture - wide-eyed, intrigued, almost  _ hopeful  _ \- speaks to something deeper. “...That… that might be permitted. For your learning… perhaps I could…”

He must know it as the flimsy excuse that it is. A flimsy excuse is all that is needed. She moves close to lean against his hip, lifting her face to catch his lowered eyes. By habit, he folds an arm around her, and she eagerly nuzzles into his side; the familiar hold seems to ease his tension. Enough that, as she cautiously trails a hand down his contoured abdomen, he only draws in a long inhale - then, slowly lifts his own hand to stroke her questing fingers.

“Would you like to unsheath me?” he murmurs.

Her reply spills out, weak but fervent: “Y- _ yes.  _ Please. I. Show me?”

She does not know what he means. She does not need to know. He envelops her hand in his, and gently, carefully, slides it down.


	5. Chapter 5

She presses her body against the warmth of her attendant's skin, feeling the unsteadiness of his breath as he directs her hand down. There is no force in the cautious control - only his gentle palm over the back of her hand. He hesitates as her touch slides down between his hips. He hesitates, but she does not. 

Her fingertips meet slick heat. Against her, his breathing stills. 

"Show me how," she whispers. 

The arm around her tightens, ever so slightly. His hand finds hers again, moving down over the slit until she cups its wetness and the heated swell beneath. She tries a careful squeeze, and hears a soft, strained noise above her head. He directs her fingertips to stroke along the slick line, and it splits readily beneath her touch - peeling back to release something hot, full, and _alive._

The clone shivers against her, and lets out a ragged groan from deep in his chest. Her mouth drops open as his length emerges… and then _continues_ to emerge, pushing out past her palm, swelling smoothly from a tapered head to a girth that her fingers cannot circle. The volume of it must have been _inside_ him; this could never have been contained by the sheath alone. Slick, fleshy, pulsing subtly, the length drips with that same bioluminescent green - much like his tongue, but far, _far_ more intimidating. 

She quickly discovers how tonguelike that member truly is - for, as she cautiously strokes up the length, it _moves._

It twists in her hand, the tapered tip curling down to wrap itself eagerly around her grip. She gives a stifled gasp - a sound lost beneath her attendant's throaty groan. "Pardon the boldness..." comes his strained voice from above her. "It is not... entirely under my _control..."_

Fascinated, she tries to wrap her small hand around his girth - not an easy feat - and slowly pumps the length. The clone’s breath hitches. He holds his body almost perfectly still, save for the slight twitching of his hips and the flexing of his claws against his own shivering thigh; but his unruly member squirms to press into her palm, wrapping and slithering over her hand with each downstroke, uncurling and reaching to follow her movements. It reacts like a creature of its own - a creature _desperate_ for her touch. 

His reactions, his obvious _need,_ are stirring some unfamiliar charge inside her. She feels his massive body shudder as he breathes, feels the extra squeeze from the arm wrapped around her upper body - sees the tension in the powerful muscles of his thighs and abdomen. Beneath her other hand, the muscles of his back tense and release with each stroke. She presses up against him with her body, rising to her knees to push her hips against his side - her other hand is exploring, now, savoring the shifting contours of his back and upper gluteals - she cannot even _begin_ to grip his body in her hands the way his hands can hold hers, but she can certainly try. 

“S-oft one…” he groans. “I… I should not… let you continue…”

The heat between her own hips is quickly spreading again, fueled by a strange, giddy _thrill._ This towering creature could crush her, tear her apart, without a trace of effort - and yet - she can feel him yielding to her. He is all but helpless beneath her touch. 

She hitches a leg over his thigh, lifting herself to straddle it, and as if by reflex his arm pulls her up in support. At this angle, her grip has more control; she presses in against him, petting and nuzzling his chest as she pumps with her other hand. The firm, striated muscle of his thigh feels unexpectedly _good_ between her legs - she rolls her hips, squeezing him, grinding - oh _stars -_

Her hand tightens involuntarily at the shock of pleasure, and he _growls,_ a deep rumble against her. In a moment, both his arms are around her, pulling her hard against his body. His hips drive up towards her strokes, rubbing his thigh into her dripping crux - she arches up with a heady moan - head back, heedlessly spreading her arousal over his skin as she bucks her hips. His length still squirms and pulses in her hand, as intimidatingly large and utterly alien as the rest of him.

And the only thought she can form in her mind is what that might feel like _inside_ her.

“S-soft one… please…” Her attendant’s arms are clutching her so tightly that it’s difficult to breathe. His upper body is curled around her, deepening the arch of her back - head dropped so his face is close to hers, and she can see the way his lips have pulled back over his fangs, the furrowed brow-ridges and hooded eyes. His voice is ragged, strained near to the breaking point. _“Please -_ I - you have to stop -”

She lets her hand slow. “Do you _want_ to stop?” she whispers. 

“No - _Shadows,_ no, but…” He growls and turns his face away, squeezing his eyes shut. “I - it grows difficult to _control_ certain ...desires.”

Her hand falls still, but remains cupped at his slick base. It pulses in protest, wrapping needily around her grip. She pulls her lower lip between her teeth. “Do you… _have_ to control them?”

“Y-yes. Of course,” the clone huffs, with more firmness in his voice. His arms try to rearrange themselves, loosening their hold on her. “It is wrong to act on my own pleasure. Let alone to…” He swallows. “...To _take_ pleasure from His honored tribute.”

"But…” She chews her lip, trying to hide a smile. “...You _are_ allowed to provide any comfort I ask."

"Y...yes." He glances back to her. Flashes of emotion cross his porcelain face - hope, then anxiety, then excitement, then guilt. His ears flutter, then fold back. "But - but no, with your size, I might only _hurt_ you. And regardless… I would not let you take on such trouble for me."

Somehow, there is a familiar tone to that. 

She slowly smiles, and takes his worried face in both hands to bring him close. "I understand now..." she murmurs near his lips, before closing the gap. 

He groans into the kiss and returns it in kind - slow, deep, ardent. When they finally part, his arms are wrapped tight around her again. Her hands remain on his cheeks. She meets his half-closed eyes. 

"Please… I _need_ you inside me."

He tilts his head back, and lets out a strangled groan - a noise just short of agony. Then, that overstrained sound _breaks._

As his hands move down to grip her thighs, his lips move to form near inaudible-words. Eyes closed, head back, it seems almost like a prayer: 

_“Oh, Exalted Brother, forgive me.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #GentleFemdom outta nowhere bet u didn't see that comin  
> Now back to the rowry service topping :D


	6. Chapter 6

She is on her back before she can even gasp. A moment later, the clone's weight is pressing her down into the bed - along with his ferocious lips. 

She gives a breathless moan into the kiss, as he fills her mouth with his tongue. Huge hands press her thighs apart, his broad frame between them - oh _stars,_ he feels so warm and firm, so heavy - she rolls her hips up against the contours of his abdomen, mewling for his heat.

As her attendant moves up to align his hips with hers, he is forced to break the kiss; the sheer size of his frame aligns her face at the level of his chest. She whines as she stretches to reach for him... but that whine quickly becomes a moan, as she feels tonguelike heat sliding over her aching crux. His breathy exhale from above echoes the noise. 

He lifts himself to his forearms to look down at her, his breathing heavy, his eyes luminous and smoldering in the dim light. She feels that wild thumping in her chest again, staring back up at the creature looming over her - the way his parted lips pull back to show a glint of fang - the way his powerful shoulders immerse her entire frame in his shadow - the way he digs his claws into the sheets above her head, gritting back a soft growl - oh, _stars._ She bites down on her lower lip, wide-eyed. 

At her apprehensive whimper, the clone forces his claws to unclench. He groans softly, keeping his hips still against her, allowing his length to simply rest along her dripping slit. Well - not entirely at rest. She can feel it moving slightly of its own accord, pressing and sliding eagerly over her heat. Her own sex is nearly as willful as his; her hips can't help but squirm to follow its motions. 

His broad palm moves to cup the side of her face, stroking her cheek. "I will be as gentle as I can, honored one…" he whispers from above. "Oh, Shadows, you feel… so small… so _soft…"_

She swallows at the sensation of his fullness, sliding and pressing against her flushed nether lips. That slick shape feels so _huge_ against her, so thick… she wraps her arms around his sides, squeezing him just as much for her own reassurance as his. As he pulls her head and upper body close, she gives a shaky sigh and buries her face in his chest.

"Just… slowly, please…" she whispers. "I-I'm… I'm ready."

His groan in reply is a plea, a prayer, as he shifts his hips against hers. 

That thick heat slides down between her nether lips, searching… she whimpers as she feels the tapered head find her entrance, and then, begin to press inside… 

Oh, stars… oh, _Light…!_

She moans, softly at first, then higher, sharper, as more and more of him spreads her open. Her breath splits into tiny gasps against his chest. His arm tightens beneath her shoulders, squeezing her close, and she feels his breath catch, the slight twitch in his broad frame - the strain in his voice - 

"Mercy… of a thousand sins… you're _tight…"_ he breathes. "Is this… am I hurting you?"

“Y-yes -” she gasps. “Oh, Stars, _don't stop.”_

She squeezes his hips with shaking legs. Her moans have become sharp little cries against his chest - _stars,_ it hurts, yet it feels so good - his slick heat, stretching her, _filling_ her, inch by overwhelming inch. 

Despite her entreaty, the clone holds for a moment. She feels his muscles tensing with restraint. "You don't have to do this, little one…" He draws in a deep shivering breath, as if struggling to follow his own advice, and begins to shift back. "I-it's all right if it's too much -"

"Don't stop!" She clutches at him with all her limbs - weak, trembling, _desperate_ \- pulling him back against her. _"Please…"_

"Praise be…" he whispers, and obeys. 

She gives a high, drawn-out gasp, as he sinks inside - smoothly, slowly - until his hips press into hers, and that thick swell fills her _deep._ His weight settles over her. She feels him shudder, groaning long and loud above her head - her own uncontrollable gasping is muffled in his chest - oh, _Shadows,_ she can feel him _moving_ inside, even as the rest of him strains to be still - her taut inner walls spasm with every twitch of his shape - 

"Try to… relax…" comes his strained voice. "You're _gripping_ me…" 

_"R-relax?"_ A noise somewhere between a laugh and a sob escapes her throat. Her head feels light, dizzy. She digs trembling fingers into his back, whimpering as pain and pleasure mingle in overwhelming bursts. Relax? How can she relax, when her body is simply not _built_ to accept this? 

“Honored one, if - if I _damage_ you - the Exalted One will have my _head.”_ He pauses, then echoes her half-choked laugh. “...And likely _not_ the one on my neck.”

"I - I _need_ this. _Please."_ A high whine crawls from her throat. “Don’t make me _beg...”_

With a shaking sigh, he gives in. As he exhales, his warm weight presses her down to the bed, and he wraps himself closer around her. One arm slides beneath her waist, the other tucking her head into his chest as he pulls in his shoulders to envelop her shaking form. 

"Breathe with me, small one…" 

Somehow, despite the deep aching fullness inside, his weight helps to calm her spasming nerves. She trembles beneath him, struggling to match the ebb and swell of his breathing. The contoured muscles of his back are taut beneath her hands; yet he manages an unsteady purr, and she clings to the familiar soothing rumble with gratitude. 

"That's it… breathe for me…" His palm strokes over her head, fingers twitching slightly with his voice. "Oh, soft one… you feel… _so good…"_

She whimpers in reply. Her body is at last letting go of its struggle, letting her adapt to this overwhelming shape - and with the ebbing of that pain, the pleasure beneath swells up - a ripple of warmth, then a wave. Her ragged whines melt at the edges. Soon, the twitch in her hips has become a slight roll against his - another wave of warmth as his shape flexes in response - and her next gasp breaks into a moan. 

“Y-yes...” She shudders into his chest as his hips begin to roll with hers, slowly, gently, decadently. “Ohhh, _yes…”_

The purr against her is deepening, steadying… or, perhaps, _shifting…_ taking on just a hint of a growl. She feels the bedclothes shift beneath her as he adjusts his hold, bracing himself up on his forearms to lift his upper body. The slow rhythm of his movements never falters, so gentle, so _powerful,_ as those glowing green eyes fix on hers. 

Her moans rise, melting together. “Yes… _yes,_ oh _stars_ yes… _fffuck… me...!”_

Her attendant's velvety reply: “As you command.”

And then, she loses all coherent words.


	7. Chapter 7

She clings helplessly to the clone’s thick, corded forearms. Even at rest, the way his shape fills her, the slightest shift is a wave of sensation. Just that - just the slow grinding roll of his hips against hers - the pulsing of his heat, the twitching of his prehensile length - just that, has her unraveling into shuddering moans beneath him. 

And now... oh, gods, now… that slick swell inside her is _moving._

The rolling deepens - his weight pressing down on her hips as he sinks into her depth, then smoothly, slowly drawing back - letting her feel every inch of his fullness slide along her inner walls. A high, helpless, breathy noise spills from her throat - another - her inner muscles are fluttering, gripping, as if trying to hold on to his shape - she draws a ragged inhale - just before he presses in again, and her inhale becomes a gasp, then a breathless whine.

Once he finds his rhythm between her thighs, her high gasps and moans spill unrestrained. She feels more than hears the clone's heavy breathing, his savoring groan above her, as achingly slow strokes pump into her depth. He holds that control in each motion - smoothly, sweetly, _deliberately_ filling her with surge after surge of bliss - and her voice rises as he bears her towards her peak. Beneath her own sounds, she can barely make out the quiet words above her head. 

“Yes... Light, _yes,_ let me feel… your nirvana...” he breathes. 

Her gasps melt into an ardent wail. 

A deep groan echoes her keening, as she grips him in helpless spasms of climax. Her body clutches him with every muscle, inside and out - shaking legs clasped around his undulating hips - spine arching up towards him, fingers digging into the muscles of his forearms. He doesn’t break rhythm, gazing down at her face with half-lidded eyes, still pumping smoothly through her shuddering cries of ecstasy; only the rough edges of his whisper reveal the effort of such control.

“I... pray for mercy... I pray forgiveness…" he murmurs, nearly inaudible, as if only to himself - or, perhaps, to the One who sees all, who knows all, who may even now be watching their reverent sin. But as her aftershocks quake beneath him, his voice falters; his eyes fall closed, his prayer abandoned. “Oh, _Shadows…_ you feel… Divine…"

Shoulders twitching, jaw set, he holds that slow rhythm inside her - smooth, controlled, mind-melting. Though she can barely focus her eyes between strokes, she can see the _need_ written in his furrowed brow. As he slows, letting her come down gradually, the sheer strength of that gentle deference sinks in: strength enough to subdue the beast who slew an army just to be her warmth. 

Whether his self-denial is out of concern, or a pious sense of taboo… even now, even as his breath comes ragged with bitten-back growls, her ever-faithful attendant is _servicing_ her. 

And even now, even as she lies a boneless, quivering mess beneath his service, that strange new charge is mounting a storm inside her. She feels a growing thrill as she understands: it is _her_ body's command he obeys. 

_She_ is the one holding the reins. 

And she, in turn, can _unleash_ him. 

The clone’s hips slow to a gentle roll, letting her catch her breath as she pulses around that fullness. Her hands, still shaking, slide up his arms to reach for his flushed face; he nuzzles into her touch, dropping his head between his braced shoulders. Aching desire bleeds through his shifting expression - just for a moment; then, his eyes are gentle again. 

“S-soft one,” he whispers, reverent. 

Her voice comes no more easily than his: breathy, half-moaning, barely articulate. “Y-you can… harder. Not… hold back. I - I can take it.”

At this, he stops moving entirely. Expressions cross his face in brief flashes: fear, desire, anxiety, shame. He swallows and closes his eyes, pressing his cheek into her hand. “I... can’t. Any more, and I might… not be able to… _stop.”_

As if to emphasize his words, his shape gives a wanting twitch inside her; he bites back a noise as she moans. When he moves to draw back, she locks her ankles behind him. 

_“I know,”_ she pants, taking the sides of his face in a determined grip. “I _want_ that. I - I want to feel _you_ come.”

His luminous eyes go wide - then twitch at the edges, in an expression that almost looks like _pain._ He inhales, and swallows thickly. _“...Mercy…”_

“I can _take_ it,” she repeats. She lets her hands slide purposefully from his face, down the sides of his muscled neck, down the swell of his chest - feeling the tension in every muscle, the hitch in his breath. Her fingers spread to squeeze him. “I - I _need_ it.”

He lets out a low, wavering groan. She bites her lip, gazes up at his strained face - and gives a firm, deliberate squeeze - from the inside. 

“Let go for me,” she whispers. _“Come for me.”_

His head tilts back. A sound builds in his throat like none she has ever heard: the groan rising into something else, something raw, guttural, desperate. Something _bestial._

Then, he is pressing down on her, his broad chest engulfing her as he drops to his elbows. It half knocks the wind out of her - his weight, and the sudden shift of the thick heat inside. She feels a thick forearm plant beside her face, hand curling around her skull - hot, ragged breathing in her hair - he mantles over her, clutching, possessive, and inhales her scent with a wild ardor. His voice has gone low and raw.

"If I cannot be forgiven -" he groans, "For this - I walk freely into oblivion -”

His next thrust takes her _deep._

The scream rips out of her before she can even register the sound. She feels him twitch, drawing in a hiss above her - with a gasp, she wrenches out _“Y-yes_ ” - in the next instant, his huge claws wrap beneath her hip, and he _growls_ into her hair, lifting her lower body against him as he shoves in again, _again._

Pinned beneath him, half crushed with each thrust, it is a struggle to _breathe,_ let alone move or speak. So, she abandons all struggle. Some part of her knows she should be afraid - should be in _pain,_ with the claws digging into her flesh, and the driving heat forcing her open from inside. But the rest of her doesn’t _care._ With her heart pounding like this, what difference is there between fear and thrill? She lets her eyes roll back, lets herself arch up into him, keening - clutching mindlessly around his bucking waist - giving over to this overwhelming flood of raw _him._

Her peak surges inside, _seizing_ him. Through her own cries, she can make out a choked snarl from above - and then, he is seizing her in turn, his arms crushing her close against his body as the shuddering growl rises around her - until he rams his last into her depth, and _roars._

Her nerves roar in echo as she feels his release: his swell buried deep, pulsing, _writhing_ in her depths as he floods her with heat. The scream from her lips, though, is silent, airless - blissfully buried beneath his heavy chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be concluded! Sry 'bout the writer's block :'D


	8. Chapter 8

"Are you _sure_ you're all right?" 

She sighs euphorically in reply, nuzzling into her attendant's shoulder. "For the thousandth time. _Yes._ It's just a few scratches!" 

He curls around her on his side, giving anxious little hums and trills, as he traces over her hip with delicate fingers. The marks from his claws are flushed red and stinging - the same claws which now smooth healing salve over her skin, with incongruous tenderness. 

"I… I lost control." From the soft whine in his voice, he sounds far more pained than she. "Honored one, I -" 

"- You _didn't_ hurt me. Stop it." She reaches up and grabs his face again. Sprawled next to him on the shredded sheets, it is far easier to reach his lips; she pulls herself up to meet them, and adds with a grin, "...You could even say it was therapeutic. I feel _amazing."_

Her attendant savors the kiss as one might savor their last moments alive: sweetly, ardently, almost desperately. Powerful arms enfold her to pull her even closer. He holds her as if at any moment she might slip from his clutches, and be lost to him forever. 

As for her, wrapped securely in his warmth, _nothing_ could tear her away - not all the armies and weapons of the Galactic Horde - no, not even the death of the Universe itself. She melts into his lips with a blissful sigh. 

Some time later, the room's dim lights have faded entirely, leaving only the twin green glow of the clone's eyes. Above their matched breathing, his quiet purr is the only sound that remains. She lies curled against him in the warm darkness, her face tucked into the crook of his neck; he continues to stroke her hair as her breathing slows, one arm still anchored around her, drinking in these moments of peace. 

"...Sweet One," she mumbles, near inaudible and slurred as she drifts off. "Tha's wha'm call you. Sweet one."

Eventually, even those two points of light disappear, and the purring softens as he too appears to slip into sleep - or whatever standby mode serves as equivalent. She can ponder such things later. For now, her own sleep is so deep, so peaceful, that not even dreams can intrude. 

In the darkness, the pupilless green eyes slowly blink open. 

Even if she had been awake, she would not have heard the smooth, resonant voice that purrs in the clone's mind. _"...Quite the 'treatment' session, it seems."_

The clone lets his eyes fall closed again, resignation drifting over him like a veil of fog. The moment of nirvana is past. He will face whatever fate awaits him without regret. 

"Y...yes, my Lord," he whispers. 

Of course He knows. He knows _all._

The Presence seems to savor his shame, tasting it, tendrils of will curling around and over it, as a sommelier might roll a heady wine on his tongue. _"Remind me, Brother… your task was to… comfort her, was it not?"_

The clone swallows. "...Yes, my Lord."

The Presence hums with some deadly shade of amusement. _"In fact, I believe you were specifically cautioned of the… delicate nature of your charge… her fragile, troubled state. ...Isn't that so?"_

The clone winces visibly. "...It is so. My Lord."

Those savoring tendrils wind deeper. _"And now,"_ thrums the Presence, _"after I entrusted you with the care of My prized tribute…"_

The Presence pauses, perhaps for dramatic effect - or perhaps just to drink in the clone's silent agony. 

_"It seems, after your ministrations…"_ the purr continues at last, _"...she is more comfortable than I have ever seen."_

In the darkness, the two luminous eyes snap wide open. 

"...M-my Lord…?" comes the clone's unsteady whisper. 

_"Yes, Brother. You have done well."_ The Presence chuckles, a rumble in the clone's brainstem. _"I commend the persuasive courtesy of your …bedside manner."_

Silence. The clone blinks slowly, too stunned to reply. 

_"Indeed, your discipline was remarkable,"_ the purr continues - an airy, almost teasing quality to its resonance. _"Even under such… exquisite duress."_

A green-tinted flush joins the glow of the clone's eyes. He lets slip a tiny, choked noise, before recovering enough to swallow it back. "Lord… I… m-my deepest gratitude." 

_"Such talents would have a welcome place among My Chosen… ah, but I'm sure the care and treatment of My trophy will keep you fully occupied."_ The tone of that mental voice has taken on an unmistakable smirk. _"Yes… your services may be required indefinitely._ _...'Sweet One'."_

And then, with a fading rumble of amusement, the Presence is gone. 

The clone is silent for some time, frozen, struggling to absorb the magnitude of this mercy. Only when his assignment shifts and murmurs wordlessly against him, does he realize that he is trembling. She nuzzles into him and hums - not quite a purr, as her species has no such ability, but surely the most soothing sound in the cosmos. 

In the darkness, there is a slow, deliberate exhale - an unsteady sound, as if it bears the relief of a thousand pardoned sins. Then, the glowing eyes close. 

Soon, once more, the only sound in the peaceful dark is a soft, steady purr.

_-fin-_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked the steamy-fluff vibe of "intimidating yet cautious nonhuman service top + relatably enthusiastic powerbottom", you might enjoy my WIP original work Technocrat! Check it out at technocratcomic.com, and/or hit me up on Discord LadyBinary#8135 for an invite to either the spacebat smut server or the Technocrat update server.


End file.
